


A Thousand Burned Out Yesterdays

by AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 08:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4514391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell/pseuds/AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing good ever comes with loving her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> A special thank you goes to my beta reader, the wonderful greeneyedconstellations!

**A Thousand Burned Out Yesterdays**

**Part I**

**.**

**.**

"Are you going to do it?"

"What do you think?"

With a smile on her face Emily Prentiss leans back against the window of the large office, her gaze on the man behind the desk.

"I think it's dangerous," Clyde tells her, his thick British accent giving the words a whole new meaning. She watches closely as he gets up and crosses the room. His cold blue eyes taking in every inch of her body.

"Dangerous and reckless," he continues when he comes to a stop in front of her. His right hand already on her waist, pulling her against his chest. Closer and closer until she feels the heat that comes off his skin. "But that never stopped you before, did it, darling?"

It's not really a question, Emily knows. She doesn't dare to breathe, while he leans closer, his lips brushing hers. Giving her just a taste of what she longs for since he left her bedroom this morning.

She feels his fingers trailing down the side of her body, his lips kissing his way down her neck and making her eyelids flutter shut.

"God, Emily. You have no idea how much I love you," he breathes against her mouth before his lips come crashing down on hers.

.

"For fuck's sake, Emily! It's been six months and you still have nothing we can use against Doyle? How is this even possible?"

Clyde's blue eyes are blazing with anger, he looks furious and Emily can't remember having seen him like this before. They're standing in the pouring rain, hidden in an alley in the dark streets of Milan.

"What do you want me to say?" Emily looks up at him, blinks away the raindrops from her eyelashes. Tries her best to keep her gaze steady.

Clyde scowls at her. "The truth would be a start."

He rubs his eyes tiredly and when he finally looks back at her she watches his gaze soften. His hand reaches for her face.

"Do you want me to get you out?"

It's just a question, but Emily feels her blood turn cold. Terror floods her veins. "No." She shakes her head. "Not yet." She fights the urge to look away. Wishes she could tell him the truth.

He nods. His hand warm against her cheek. His eyes filled with love and a longing Emily hasn't seen in months.

 _It's been so long,_  she thinks and then before she can stop herself she kisses him. Her hands cupping his face, her lips colliding with his. The two of them stumbling through the dark until they hit a wall. Clyde's hands at her waist, hoisting her up in the air like he'd done so many times before. And Emily's just glad that it's too dark for him to see that the raindrops on her face have become tears.

.

It's a sunny morning when the black cars show up out of nowhere. Pulling up into the driveway of Ian Doyle's Tuscan villa, one after another. Telling Emily that it's over. That her work is done.  _That Lauren Reynold is about to die._

She stands there on the lawn, wondering what had happened. Wondering why she didn't even get a warning.

It isn't supposed to end like this.

_I couldn't even tell them goodbye._

Two men in black suits grab her arms roughly, shove her forward in the direction of the nearest car.

Panicked she looks back up at the balcony, meets Ian's gaze one last time. Wonders if she'll ever see him again.

.

The person waiting for her in town, right in front of a cheap motel, is Clyde. And without a second thought, Emily slaps him hard across the face when she steps out of the car.

He doesn't even seem surprised and Emily hates the fact that she seems to be that predictable to him. She doesn't fight him when he grabs her arm and shoves her inside the building. They cross a dark lobby, and than an even darker hallway, before Clyde finally pushes her into a room. The second the door falls shut behind them he lets go of her arm and Emily explodes into action.

She feels like she's lit on fire, yells and curses at him for everything and nothing. To her own frustration, Clyde just stares back at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

It's not until she catches a look at her own reflection in the mirror that she stops. Shocked to find Lauren Reynolds staring back at her.

It's silent, the only sound in the room her own ragged breathing. Exhausted, she finally sinks down on the bed. Stares down at her trembling hands. Thinking that they should have stopped this months ago.

"Are you done, darling?"

She looks up, meets Clyde's stare from across the room. His cold blue eyes distant, like he already knows more than he wants to.  _Maybe he does._

"Don't darling me," she whispers, her cheeks still flushed. Tears on the verge of spilling. "Why did you do it? No one even warned me. They just showed up and took me away. Why?"

"It wasn't my decision, Emily. I had no say in it."

It's not until later when she's alone, standing in the shower, that she allows her tears to fall. A trembling hand pressed against her mouth to muffle the sound.

.

She wakes up with a cramping pain in her lower abdomen and the heavy coppery smell of blood hanging in the air. She blinks into the darkness of the room and it takes her a moment to remember that she's still in Tuscany.

She gasps at another wave of pain hits her. Blindly she reaches over to the nightstand to turn on the lights.

The first thing she realizes is that there's blood running down her bare legs. Blood soaking the white sheets tangled between her limbs. And all she can do is stare. Another wave of pain making her cringe.

"Emily?"

She blinks,  _startled and confused,_  finds Clyde sitting up on the couch at the other end of the room. "What's wrong?" He sounds alarmed and even from the distance Emily can see the horror washing over his face when he gets a look at the bed sheets.

"Bloody hell," he breathes, leaping up from the couch in an instant. His phone already pressed against his ear.

.

They don't talk about it. Not in the hospital, not on the jet on their flight back to London and not when they meet in his office. Yet, everything's different.

Emily wonders why she hadn't realized how much she wanted to have the baby until she lost it. She hates herself for thinking about it, but she can't stop asking herself if it would have made a difference if she had known who the father had been. If it had been Clyde's or Ian's.

And she knows Clyde wonders too. Can see it in his eyes whenever she catches him looking at her from the distance. The question eating him up from the inside. Tearing both of them further apart.

.

They're in Prague, Emily, like always supposed to lure the bad guy into a trap. She's wearing a short dress, that's not much of a dress at all, along with her best  _"shut up and fuck me"_  expression on her flawless face.  _She hates every second of it._

She downs a glass of champagne even though she knows she shouldn't. But she adds a second and a third and is about to order a fourth when she feels a hand slip right under the hem of her dress. The heavy smell of tobacco makes her head spin. A male voice whispers something in her ear. And Emily's frozen to the spot.

She's shoved hard against the nearest wall a moment later, rough hands at the soft fabric of her dress. They talked about it. A hundred times. And she did it a hundred others. But something inside her snaps just then for the first time and she sees red.

There's a gun in her hand. A gun she levels against the guy's head before she realizes what she's doing. Someone calls out her name, tells her to stop. A voice that sounds oddly familiar, even though she can't say why. But it's too late.

There's a loud bang, a ringing in her ears and she feels herself stumbling, falling, until she hits the ground with a thud. The gun slipping from her hands.

She blinks and blinks until her sight gets clear again to find blood all over her. A dead man lying beside her on the dirty floor.

And Emily knows that her career is over.

.

She finds herself staring out the window of Clyde's office the next day. Watching the raindrops run down the window pane, the dark clouds looming over London. The cup of coffee in her hands long forgotten.

"Emily."

A hand on her arm makes her turn around. Meeting Clyde's eyes.

"How long have you been here?" he wants to know. His brows raised in confusion. Sorrow written on his face.

Emily blinks, shrugs lightly. Places her coffee cup on the edge of his desk.

"You told me to come," she finally answers, before she looks back out of the window. "It's about yesterday, isn't it? They want me gone."

It's not really a question, Emily already knows the answer. After the mess she made the night before in that nightclub in Prague, there was just one possible outcome.

"I'm sorry, Emily."

"So this is the end then."

It's silent for a long time, silent except for the rain drumming against the window pane and the London traffic four stories down.

"I wish I didn't have to do this." Clyde's voice sounds heavy with sadness.

Emily nods. Feels him stepping closer from behind.

"I know," she whispers. Leaning back against his chest. Inhaling the familiar scent of his aftershave. "Me too." She closes her eyes when his arms come close around her. Wondering if he would hold her like that ever again.

.

Emily's dancing. Her body moving in perfect sync with the music blaring from the speakers. There's a glass of wine in her hand and Clara in front of her. Clara, a blonde girl with sparkling green eyes and the most dazzling smile Emily's ever seen.

She has no idea what day it is, no idea what time. And it doesn't matter.  _Not anymore._  Not since she left Interpol, not since she left London behind.

She's spinning in circles along with the girl and along with the spinning room. Laughing for the first time in what feels like forever.

Somehow the glass disappears and then both of her hands are buried in the girls blonde curls. When Emily bends forward to kiss her, the girl tastes sweet. Like cherries and cream. Her scent so delicious and intoxicating, it makes Emily feel like she's flying.

And maybe Emily thinks, maybe she is.

.

She takes Clara to Italy, to France and all around the world. The money in her bank account enough for her to not worry about it. The beautiful girl the sweetest temptation on earth, her green eyes enough for Emily to make her forget everything she's ever done.

They're in Boston when Clyde shows up in front of her hotel room one night. A blonde little boy on his arm and a dark haired woman at his side.

Emily doesn't bother asking how he found out about Declan. How he managed to get him and Louise to the States. It doesn't matter anyway, the only thing that matters is to keep the boy safe. And there's no other person in the world, Emily trusts more than Clyde.

"I looked pretty good as a dead kid, didn't I?" The boy asks her hours later, grinning proudly up at her and Emily can't help but smile back at him. Silently praying that her bitten down fingernails on the pictures would be enough to let Ian know that his son was safe.  _That she did what she promised him after all._

"Yes, Declan. Yes, you did." She bends down pulling him against her chest. "I love you, you know that, right?" she whispers. Inhaling the scent of his bubble gum shampoo, wishing she could leave with him.

"I love you, too," the boy tells her, his small arms close around her neck. "And you'll visit, right?" His blue eyes filled with hope, when he looks at her.

"Of course I will," she tells him, even though she knows it's a lie. She doesn't even know where he's going. "As soon as possible."

She gives him a kiss, fighting back tears as she watches him run up the steps to the plane, waving back at her one last time.

She still stands there on the landing strip even when the jet is long gone and there's nothing left but the dark sky and Clyde's hand on her shoulder to remind her that it's time to go home.

.

She wakes up to a voice calling her name. Someone holding her shoulders in a death grip, shaking her so roughly, she's sure she's going to be sick.

She blinks furiously, white light blinding her from above. And then there's Clyde.

"Stay with me, Em," he yells at her. "Do you hear me? Emily, stay with me!"

She wonders what he's talking about, tries to remember how she ended up on the living room floor of her apartment.  _But wait, no,_  it's not her apartment.

_Where is she?_

"Emily, look at me. Emily!"

 _And where is Clara. She'd been with her. Hadn't she?_  Emily blinks again, tries hard to remember. Realizes it's Clara's apartment, the dark violet walls around her finally becoming clear.

_But where is she?_

It's then that she hears the sirens. A wailing coming closer. And voices. So many voices, making her head hurt.

She blinks and blinks and then she spots her. The beautiful green eyed girl lying only an arm's length from her. Alarmingly pale. Her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.

"Clara?" she whispers. Her voice raspy and unfamiliar in her own ears. "Clara!" And then she's screaming, trying to get up, trying to get closer. But she can't.

It's Clyde, holding her back. And suddenly Emily remembers. The new London nightclub. White powder on a mirror. Clara looking up at her with sparkling green eyes, telling her that she loves her.

"Clara," Emily screams. Pushing her fists against Clyde's chest, begging him to let go. "Clara!" But Emily knows the girl is gone.

.

She's floating in and out of consciousness. Dreaming about a dark haired boy in Rome, about a baby she never wanted. About two lives she ruined in a heartbeat.

She dreams about blue eyes, about a blonde little boy with a face like an angel. About a baby she never deserved.

She's running. Blue eyes turning green and blue again. Darkness looming all around her. Trying to swallow her.

A sweet voice whispering in her ear, telling her to stay. And another voice, a voice so familiar it makes her whole body ache, telling her to come back.

.

When she opens her eyes she finds herself in a hospital room. White walls surround her. Moonlight floods the room and Clyde sits on a chair to her right. His hand softly holding hers. He looks tired. And Emily wonders how much time has passed since he found her in Clara's apartment.  _To her_  i _t feels like a lifetime._

"Welcome back," he whispers, his fingers brushing against her skin.

There are a million things she wants to say. A million things she wants to know. But all she manages to do is to look up at him.  _  
_

"I made a few calls," he tells her. His warm hand still holding hers. "There's an apartment waiting for you in Washington D.C. along with a job at the FBI."

Emily blinks. Not sure if she heard him right.

"Washington?"

Clyde nods. Gives her a sad smile. "I heard you have family there."

Emily stares. Knows exactly what he's telling her. The only family she ever came close to having a blonde little boy, calling her  _Lauren._

"You're far too young to throw your life away," he adds softly before he bends down to press his lips against her forehead. His eyes filled with so much love, regret and pain, Emily's barely able to keep breathing. Silently she watches as Clyde gets to his feet.

She wants to tell him to stay, wants to tell him that she's sorry. That she always loved him, too. That a part of her always will. But she keeps seeing a boy in Rome, Ian and Declan and Clara and she thinks that nothing good ever comes with loving her. That everything she touches is doomed to die. That the only good thing she can do, is let him go.

"Take care of you, darling," she hears him whisper, before he walks out of the room and out of her life.

**.**

**.**

**...to be continued.**


	2. Part II

**A Thousand Burned Out Yesterdays**

**Part II**

**.**

**.**

They hate her right from the start. They don't trust her and Emily can't blame them. But she owes it to Clyde to make it work and so she plasters a fake smile on her face and tries her best to fit into a team that doesn't want her.

Working for the BAU is different. There's no one telling her who to be or what to do. It's not necessary to give up everything to take the bad guy down. But it's been years and Emily can't even remember her true self anymore.

She knows that they're watching her closely, expecting her to resign, waiting for her to break under the pressure that comes with their job. And no wonder, the life Clyde made up for her sounds ridculous.  _Who would be crazy enough to allow a person coming from a desk job to go into the field?_

She wishes she could just tell them the truth, but of course she can't. It's what she signed up for years ago. But sometimes she still wonders what Clyde really did to get her the job. It must have been much more than calling in a favor.

The first time she takes an Unsub down, she does it all by herself. Jumps out of the dark, not even blinking when she pulls the trigger to safe the victim. It takes her only one shot, straight through the head, to end it. When she lowers her gun, she finds the whole team staring.

"Maybe I compartmentalize better than most people," is what she tells JJ and Hotch, after Reid gets kidnapped. And it's not even a lie. She does compartmentalize better than most people.

What she can't tell them is that it's only because she's already done worse things herself.

.

It's her birthday and she's alone in her apartment, staring out of the window and into the dark. Thinking about London.

It's been weeks since she last talked to Clyde, _no it's not true_ , it's been months. So long, she can't even remember their last conversation.

A knock on the door stops her from going down the memory lane any further. She finds  _him_  leaning casually against the doorframe of her apartment.

"Happy Birthday, darling." With one soft movement, Clyde pulls her close up against his chest, her body fitting perfectly against his hips. His lips finding hers without hesitation.

For a brief moment Emily thinks about pushing him back, for his own sake. And maybe for hers. But they've done this so many times over the years, it's always been like this. Pushing and pulling, neither of them willing to make a real commitment. _In the end they always found their way back into each other's arms._

"They still hate me," she tells him later, when they're lying side by side in her bed. Moonlight kissing their naked bodies, tangled between the sheets.

"Give them time, Em. They'll come around."

She watches while he traces circles on her bare arms, the soft touch of his fingertips enough to make her tremble in excitement.

"I hated you too you know, the day I met you. So sure of yourself."

Emily laughs. "You asked me out for a drink before you even showed me my desk, remember?"

"Well, I definitely remember that desk," he tells her with a wink, before bending down to kiss her neck. Making her forget what they were talking about.

"How long do we have?" 

"Four hours," Clyde tells her between kisses. His hands already buried in her dark hair.

Emily nods, her hands pulling him closer. "Then let's make them count." Clyde doesn't need to be told twice.

When she wakes up in the morning, she's not surprised to find him gone. The bed beside her cold and empty except for a white envelope.

She leans back against the headboard before she takes it into her hands to open it. She finds a piece of paper. The colorful painting of a child. A rainbow under a clear blue sky. A smiling sun, light blue clouds and a dark haired woman. A little blond boy holding her hand as well as the hand of the man next to him.  _Happy Birthday_  written atop of it in the unsteady handwriting of a kid.

Even when it's not signed, Emily knows it's from Declan. The little boy who still owns her heart.

.

"You don't choose who you fall in love with."

The words leave her lips without thinking, just to calm the victim. But later, when Emily's alone again, she wonders if she even believes them herself.

Could she have chosen to not love Ian?  _Would she?_

She thinks about the colorful painting she keeps hidden in her safe, along with the ring Ian gave her and everything else that connects her with that dark chapter of her past.

The truth is she isn't sure.  _It's maybe the closest she'll ever get to know._

"You, kids, I can see it," JJ tells her with a heartwarming smile on her sweet face and Emily feels like crying. She knows the blonde on the seat across from her just wants to be nice, doesn't mean to hurt her, but she does. The fact that she looks so much like Clara doesn't help either.

When Garcia gets shot and Emily finds herself next to JJ in the hospital hallway in the middle of the night, she knows she's getting too close. She slips her hand into JJ's without thinking, more for her own comfort than for the blonde's. Fighting the urge to run as far away as possible.

She already knows much more about her colleagues than she ever wanted to. Colleagues have become friends and friends have become family. A family she never had. I _t scares her to death._

The closer they get, the higher she builds up her walls. Hides behind her flawless face, the mask she learned to wear as a child. She thinks about leaving more and more often, even when she isn't sure where to go. There's still Declan she has to protect. It's not like she could just walk right out of the life Clyde made for her.

_At least not without a plan._

.

"Me. It's me."

The words spill from her lips without thinking twice. She doesn't fight Cyrus even though she knows she could. She gives Reid one last pleading look before she gets dragged away.

Every blow to her head, every punch in her gut makes her want to scream in agony.  _Yet, she's never felt more alive._

She tastes her own blood in her mouth, feels glass cut deep into her skin. The physical pain, such a sweet release.

She tells her team that she can take it, knows they're already listening in. The compound long surrounded. But what she really means is that she needs it.

Hours later, she sits down across from Reid and tries to make him understand that there's no reason for him to feel guilty. But of course she can't tell him the truth and everything she can tell him makes him look even more heartbroken. So she gives up. Stays silent for the whole flight back.

.

They're in Vegas, the whole case horrible enough to make even Emily Prentiss flinch. She's glad when Hotch decides that they should stay the night, before heading back to D.C.

She meets Layla in the casino. A young woman from Portland with ebony curls and the same sparkling green eyes as Clara's. It doesn't take long before they end up in a dark hallway. Emily's hands buried in Layla's dark hair, far too drunk to care that one of her team might see her.

It's between kisses that she catches the glimpse of someone watching her. When she looks up, she finds Rossi looking at her from across the room. His dark eyes meeting hers.

And for a split - _horrific-_  second, Emily feels like he's looking right through her. She blinks, but when she looks up again, he's gone.

.

Watching JJ with Henry brings Emily to her knees. There, right in front of her, everything she gave up. Everything she lost.  _Everything she'll never have._

No one notices when she slips out of the room, almost breaking into a run for the elevator.

She makes it out of the building before she realizes her car is still in the parking lot of the FBI. She closes her eyes in frustration, before she sinks down on the nearest bench. Her gaze lost somewhere on the horizon.

.

When they ask her to play the bait to get their suspect to talk, Emily just stares. Tries hard to suppress a laugh, wonders what Clyde would have to say about this.  _He sure as hell wouldn't be amused._

When she's done dressing up, Morgan looks surprised and Reid flushed. And Emily doesn't understand what the fuss is about until she looks into the mirror and finds  _Lauren_  staring back at her.

For a split second she thinks about telling Hotch that she can't do it. But where's the point? And for the first time in what feels like forever Emily allows herself to give in to the need to be  _her_  again.

Later, when she's back at the police station, it feels impossible to become Emily ever again.

.

With Matthew's death, Emily hits rock bottom. Finally tumbling down the edge of the cliff she'd been hanging on for years.

Suddenly she's back in a time she needed years to forget, a time she never wanted to look back to.  _But yet here she is._  Another person who had fallen for her,  _dead and gone_ , a life destroyed by her own terrible decisions.

When Rossi asks her, she tells him.  _Spills her secrets like a high school girl talking to the guidance counselor._ And it's exactly how she feels, like a fifteen year old. Alone, broken beyond repair.

As soon as she knows John will be fine, she takes a cab to the airport. Leaves Hotch a message that she needs a few days off.

She spends the whole night in the departure hall because of the snow, biting her lip furiously to keep herself from crying. When she finally ends up in front of Clydes loft in London,  _god knows how many hours later,_  he's not even there. She scolds herself for being so stupid, for not calling him first. By now the battery of her phone is dead.

She leaves him a message pinned to his door, before taking a cab back to the airport.  _Maybe it's for the best._

.

She falls back into old habits far too easily. Glad that Clyde isn't around to stop her. She should feel guilty, she knows. But she doesn't.

She's at a crime scene with Reid, when she loses her cold facade for the first time. They're in Philly, standing in the pouring rain in a dark alley, listening to the police officer stating the facts. Telling them about the dead boy they found.

The second Emily catches a glimpse of him, her knees give out from under her. She's falling and if it hadn't been for Reid she would have hit the ground.

But it's not Declan. The dead boy on the ground at least three years older, his eyes a grey blue, instead of the color of the sky. She's relieved and shocked and disgusted by herself at the same time.

She stumbles out of Reid's hold and manages a few steps away from the crime scene before she starts to throw up.

After that, Reid looks at her differently. She's surprised when she realizes he hasn't told anyone what had happened at that crime scene that night. But instead he's watching her from a distance, hovering one step behind her as if he fears she might fall apart.

They're on their flight back from a case in Texas when she's had enough and finally snaps at him.

"Just spill it, Reid!" She's standing in the small kitchenette, a cup of coffee in her hand. Fighting the urge to throw it against the wall.

Reid looks uneasy and Emily remembers a time when she'd been the one trying to talk some sense into him.  _It seems a lifetime ago._

"Let me help you," he finally tells her. His hazel eyes eyeing her carefully and Emily wishes she could run away. But she's trapped with nowhere to go and so she just stares down at her coffee. Slowly shaking her head.

"I don't need help."

.

Flirting with Carl Arnold to get him to talk feels wrong and right at the same time. She's good at it, always had been. Knows exactly what she's doing and the way Hotch keeps looking at her makes her wonder if he knows about her work at Interpol after all.

She pretends to be shaken up by her own performance, but the truth is she feels better than she has in a long time.

.

"I want to come back, Clyde."

She's sitting in her bedroom, her phone pressed against her ear. Staring out of her window into the darkness.

He's silent for a long time and she knows exactly what he's thinking. What he's not telling her, not over the phone, not when neither of them knows who's listening.

"Alright," is all he tells her in the end. "Let me see what I can do."

 _I miss you too,_ is what she reads between the lines.

.

By the time Sean starts calling her she already knows that Ian's on his way to Washington.

The dead bodies piling up left and right, make her wonder what went wrong. Because Emily knows something is wrong. Knows it isn't Ian's work, knows for sure when she hears about the dead kid. It can't be Ian.  _It just can't be._

"He's a terrorist, Emily," Clyde tells her. His blue eyes finding hers, his warm hands close around her trembling ones. "He thinks that his son is dead, murdered. For him there's nothing to lose."

Emily nods, closes her eyes and wishes she could tell Clyde that she left a message hidden in those pictures. But she doesn't dare to tell him the truth. At least not yet.

In the end Ian shows up out of nowhere, just like he always had and when he does it's like a single moment hasn't passed between now and then.

Neither of them says a word, they're just staring at each other from across the table, an unbearable need rising inside.

She takes him home with her, back into the security of her apartment. They barely make it through the door before they tear off each other's clothes with trembling fingers. And she feels guilty. Horribly guilty. But it's not enough to make her stop.

.

When Ian tells her that it had been Tsia who betrayed them all, everything starts to make sense. Emily knows what it means, knows what he's telling her. Knows that Tsia has to die.

She doesn't try to stop him when he leaves her apartment at sunrise. She doesn't warn her either, helps Ian lure her into a trap instead.

The only thing she does is to make sure that Clyde is safe. It isn't his war to fight after all.

When she looks down at Tsia's dead body a few hours later, reality hits her full force. There's no going back now. Not now, not ever. Not for her. Not for anyone. Not anymore.

She made a deal with the devil, sealed it with blood. Her soul lost.

She rushes out of the building, stumbling past police officers before, throws up all over the sidewalk. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, she grabs hold of an iron gate to hold herself upright.

She knows Ian is watching. Knows he'll think she's weak. And maybe she is. Maybe she's not meant to live the life he wants her to. Maybe she never was. Maybe they both have been wrong all along. Now it's too late to go back, too late to change what she's gotten herself into.

She does what needs to be done without blinking. And it pains Emily to find her team doing exactly what she expected them too.

_Coming right after her._

She can't help but wonder what they would do if they knew the truth. If they knew her part in this. If they knew who she really is.

.

When she ends up on the cold ground, blood soaking the floor underneath her, she already knows that it looks much worse than it is. And she can't help but wish that it was worse, that the wound would be fatal.

That everything could come to an end.

_Death, the only way out._

It's a split second decision. With all the strength she has left she grabs the wooden stick and shoves it deep into her body. Deep and deeper until the pain becomes unbearable and she starts to scream.

Morgan comes barging in a moment later and when Emily tells him  _to let her go_ , she means it.

She closes her eyes and hopes that Clyde will find her message. That he will understand, and that he'll help Ian and Declan leave the country. That she owes Ian that much.

And she hopes that Clyde will forgive her. Because Clyde would know that Ian wouldn't have left her to die.

There's a voice whispering her name, a familiar hand reaching for hers and then there's nothing but silence. Nothing but darkness.

**.**

**.**

**to be continued**


	3. Part III

**A Thousand Burned Out Yesterdays**

**Part III**

**.**

**.**

When Emily opens her eyes, there's only pain. She feels like she's burning, her whole body set on fire. And all she wants to do is scream. But there's something stuck in her throat.

She reaches for her face, a panic settling over her when she finds it impossible to move.

"No, Emily, don't."

There's someone looking down at her, a woman with blonde hair and beautiful eyes. A woman that seems familiar and yet Emily has no idea who she is.

"You need to calm down," a second voice tells her. A male one, achingly familiar too.

The voice belongs to a man in a black leather jacket, standing to her right. One of his hands on her forehead, the other one holding hers.

"Just go back to sleep. I'm right here, darling. I'm right here."

.

The next time Emily opens her eyes, the pain is still there, but a lot more bearable. And the thing in her throat -  _now she's sure it was a breathing tube -_  is gone.

She's in a dimly lit hospital room, the only sound comes from the heart monitor beside the bed. A constant beep that's comforting and yet annoying as hell.

When she turns her head to the right, her eyes find Clyde sitting in a chair next to her bed, looking more exhausted than she's ever seen him before. The circles under his eyes are so dark she starts to wonder how long he's been there.

"What the fuck were you thinking," he blurts out the second their eyes meet. She feels his hand over hers, holding on to her so tightly she's sure he'll leave bruises.

"It's good to see you too, " she whispers, realizing just how much her throat hurts.

Clyde laughs, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand and if Emily hadn't known better she would have said he was fighting back tears.

He looks angry and sad and maybe even a little broken and Emily wonders what he's thinking. She closes her eyes, tries to find the strength to keep talking.

"Where's Declan?" she whispers. Wishing she had a glass of water. "And Ian? Where's Ian?"

"Declan is safe, Emily. He's still where I put him seven years ago."

Emily blinks, tries to sit up even though she already knows she'll never manage. "Didn't you get my message?"

"Of course I did," Clyde tells her. Pushes her back down on her pillow. "But thanks to your posh FBI friends everything had gone to hell by the time I got there."

He looks even sadder than he did before and Emily can't shake the feeling that something's terribly wrong.

"Where's Ian, Clyde?" she feels panic rise and it sets off the monitor beside her bed.

"I don't know, Em."

"What do you mean, you don't know? What happened?" She watches as Clyde leans back in his chair, a pained expression on his face.

"Clyde, tell me! Where's my team?"

"They're at your funeral, Emily."

The words hit her like ice cold water. Black dots start to dance in front of her eyes, while she pulls back her hand. Clyde's grip on her, suddenly too painful to bear.

"Before I had the chance to do something, the blonde and your boss had already claimed you died," he adds. Tries to mask his own distress, but Emily knows him well enough to hear it in his voice anyway.

"When I got here it was already too late to do anything without turning this into an even bigger mess."

Emily just stares. Anger and frustration crashes down on her. And suddenly she has to fight back tears herself.

_It isn't supposed to end like this._

"Doyle didn't stab you, am I right?"

Clyde's question makes her flinch.

She wants to tell him that he's wrong, wishes she could lie. But she knows he already knows anyway and that there's nothing she can say or do to change that. So she just closes her eyes, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

"That's what I thought," he whispers sadly.

They're silent for a long time, Clyde staring out of the window. Emily straight up at the ceiling.

"What are we going to do?" she asks him, when she can't take the silence any longer. Emily watches him shift in his chair, hears him sigh, before he reaches over to take her hand into his own once more.

"I don't know, but I promise we'll figure it out."

.

Quietly Emily stares out into the dark, listening to the faint roar of the Interpol jet.

She still hasn't found a comfortable sitting position and by now she's sure it's useless anyway. Her whole body hurts and she wishes she could just take more painkillers. But Clyde had taken them out of her hands after the last two and Emily knows he won't give them back anytime soon.

She closes her eyes to fight against a wave of nausea and hopes she'll make it through the rest of the flight without puking.

_Those last couple of days had been horrible enough._

When she opens her eyes, she meets Clyde's gaze from across the jet and she wonders how long he'd been watching her.

They haven't talked to each other, not since they got on the jet with JJ in tow. He'd been quiet, staring out of the window into the dark. Emily had only caught a glimpse of his face once, when she'd talked with JJ about getting rid of the four leaf clover burn. The flash of anger in his eyes, the familiar hint of jealousy.

Of course she wouldn't get rid of it, just saying it had felt like a betrayal to Emily and she knew that Clyde knew that as well.

_Every word she'd said just another fucked up lie._

.

When Emily tells JJ goodbye 24 hours later she's so high on pain medication that she feels completely numb. She takes the folder with a thankful nod, even though she already knows she won't use the money or the passports.

_There's no need to._

She can't remember the way back to the hotel, can't remember anything until the first rays of sunlight make her eye lids flutter open. She finds herself in the middle of the bed, fully dressed with Clyde's arms around her waist and his lips pressed against her neck.

"You're still here," she mumbles, still half asleep. Not sure if she's just dreaming.

"Where else should I be?" he asks her with a soft chuckle. His breath hot against her skin.

 _Anywhere but here,_ Emily thinks. But she knows it's not the answer he wants to hear and so she stays quiet.

She allows her eyes to fall shut, drifting back into the darkness of a dreamless sleep.

.

Days become weeks and with every passing day, Emily becomes more restless.

"We have to do something, Clyde. We have to help him."

She's standing at the window of her motel room, staring out into the rain. Clyde on the bed behind her, his gaze fixed on the screen of his laptop. Playing online scrabble with JJ.

"Why?" he asks without looking at her. "Do you still think you owe him? Forget it, Declan is better off without him anyway."

"How can you say that?" Emily spins around, her cheeks flushed with anger.

Clyde only gives her a side glance.

"In case you forgot, Doyle is a terrorist. And also a murderer. Forgive me when I doubt his qualities as a parent."

Emily looks back out of the window, tries to fight the urge to bite her lip like a spoiled child.

"It's not our place to judge his qualities as a parent, Clyde. I just think we should never have intervened. This is all our fault. We made him a murderer."

She knows she's gone too far when she spots Clyde getting up to his feet in the reflection of the window pane. His eyes lit with anger.

"May I remind you that you didn't even try to intervene? You knew everything and you didn't spill a fucking word to us! Maybe you never would have if Tsia hadn't changed sides. Did you change sides too? Did you plan on running away with Doyle back than?"

Emily can feel the color drain from her face. She reaches for the window sill to keep herself upright, before she turns around to face him.

"What are you saying?" she whispers and tries her best to hold his cold stare.

Clyde looks like he's about to explode and Emily's afraid of what he's going to say, because even though he knows the answer to all those questions -  _Emily's sure he does_  - he never said it out loud. They never talked about it.

In the end he says nothing, looks away instead. Emily watches as he grabs his bag and starts to pack up his things.

"Clyde, I'm sorry." She makes an unsteady step toward him, even when she has no idea what to say or do to make this right. But she can't stand the thought of him leaving.

"It's fine, Emily," he starts before he grabs his jacket from a chair. "It's time for me to leave, anyway. I still need to find a way to fix this, right?" He gives her a smile and Emily feels like crying. A feeling she seems to get used too. A feeling she already hates.

"Dont blame yourself, darling," he tells her with his hand on the door. "You can't choose who you fall in love with."

When the door falls shut behind him, Emily can't help but wonder if she'll see him again.  _And if he even wants to._

.

She's on her way from a nightclub back to the hotel, when she finds herself in a thunderstorm a few weeks later.

She knows she should hurry up, but instead she stops in the middle of the street. Looks up into the night and listens to the thunder roaring close. Watches as lightning tears the sky apart. Rain pouring down on her. She's soaked to the bone in seconds, freezing. Her dark hair plastered to her face. Ye _t she never felt more alive._

There are headlights coming closer and she shuts her eyes. Feels a smile grow on her lips.

A male voice screams at her to get back on the sidewalk and makes her blink in surprise. For a moment she's stunned. Even through the raging storm she could have sworn it was Ian.

Before she realizes what's going on, someone grabs her roughly by her waist and shoves her away from the street. Just before a truck rushes by.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Emily blinks and finds herself face to face with Ian Doyle. For a moment she's sure she's finally lost it, sure she's hallucinating -  _again_  - and tries her best to remember what pills she took last.

But then he pulls her close against his chest, his warmth spreading though her body instantly. His hand cups the side of her face softly, before his lips come crushing down on hers and it feels so real it makes her head spin. And her knees go weak.

She's squirming on the sheets of her hotel bed half an hour later. The thunderstorm still raging over Paris, lightning setting the dark sky on fire. And she's screaming and breathing and begging and crying, Ian's hands so soft and rough and everything she needs them to be.

They're lying side by side later, her back against his chest. His hands resting carefully on the scar on her flat stomach.

"What happened?" he asks her. His lips softly pressed against her neck. And she can't stop thinking about another blue-eyed man in her life.

"I don't know," she whispers. Closes her eyes. Not sure what else to tell him. And it's true after all, she has no idea what happened or why she did what she did.

"I'm sorry," she tells him. Her broken voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, Ian." And she is. For everything and nothing. For all the things she can't even tell him.

She feels him pull her closer against his chest, when he whispers:

"Me too, love. Me too."

And Emily thinks that it sounds too much like goodbye.

.

By the time Clyde finally calls her it's October.

"It's done." he tells her. His voice cold and distant and not just because there's an ocean between them. "They're going to call you soon."

Emily nods. Relief floading her veins. She looks up into the clear blue sky, the burner phone pressed against her ear.

"Thank you, Clyde. I mean it, I..."

"Emily," he cuts her off midsentence and Emily notices how wrong his voice sounds.

"Let's be clear on one thing. I'm going to do this, but not for Doyle. Not even for Declan. I'm going to do this for you, I want you to remember that."

Emily closes her eyes. A sad smile on her lips.

"I guess you'll make sure of that," she whispers, but Clyde has already hung up.

.

The whole day is a blur.

From the moment she leaves the Interpol jet to the moment she walks into the conference room to face the people she left behind. She watches the betrayal grow on their faces and she can't stop wondering how they would take the whole truth.  _If they would hate her even more._

When she walks into the interrogation room to meet Ian, she's a mess. And she just wants to finish this before running as far away as possible and never come back.

Emily hates the fact that she can still trick her team, that after all she's done they believe everything she says. That they still trust her no matter what, even though she doesn't deserve it. Even though there is no reason they should.

When she sees Declan for the first time in so many years, Emily wants to burst into tears. She holds him close, wonders if he even recognizes her and the thought of losing him and Ian all over again,  _this time for good,_  tears her apart.

She looks around the landing strip, wonders how Clyde pulled it off. Wonders how none of her team gets that this is just another set up. And Emily's torn between being relieved that everything goes as planned and shocked that she can still play them like puppets.

_Haven't they learned anything?_

.

A few hours later she's standing in the pouring rain on a landing strip in Arlington. A private jet waiting in the distance.

_Not for her, no. But for the man and the boy she loves enough to let go._

She looks at Ian, his blue eyes watching her. He's right in front of her, his hands shoved down in the pockets of his black coat. Raindrops dripping from his eye lashes.

"Thank you," he tells her. His voice honest and full of love.

Emily nods. "I owed you."

She's already fighting back the tears. And a part of her wishes she could leave with him, wishes she could start over where ever he goes. But another part of her is glad that he didn't ask. That he knows her well enough to know that she can't.

She watches as he bends forward, allows her eyes to flutter shut. Feels his lips brush over hers one last time.

"Goodbye, love," he whispers softly, before he finally pulls away from her.

Emily keeps her eyes closed until she hears the jet come to life. When she feels a hand on her shoulder, there's no need for her to turn around to know it's Clyde.

She leans back against his chest like she's done a million times before, while she watches her haviest burden and her deepest regret disappear somewhere on the dark horizon.

.

Strauss's offer isn't an offer. It's an order.

When the older woman comes into the conference room to tell her team that they're off the hook and that the bureau wants to give Emily her job back, Emily already knows what she has to answer. Strauss made it clear when she called her hours ago.

Emily isn't sure who gave the order in the first place, but that doesn't really matter. Neither does the fact that she doesn't want to stay.  _This isn't about her._

Maybe it never was to begin with.

Clyde promises to work it out for her, to call in a few favors. But Emily just shakes her head, gives him a kiss and tells him that he's done enough.

_And burning in hell is what she deserves, after all._

**.**

**.**

****... to be continued** **


	4. Part IV

**A Thousand Burned Out Yesterdays**

**Part IV**

**.**

**.**

Going back to work with her team, is like fighting a losing battle. Emily feels like she's running but never getting anywhere.

Reid is mad at her and even madder at JJ and Emily can't blame him. She would be mad too. Emily tries to talk to him, tries to make up for what she did even though she knows there is no making up for it.

Strauss watches her from afar and Emily wonders what this is all about. She knows she could just ask, if not Strauss than at least Hotch, but she isn't sure if she's ready to hear the answer and so she doesn't. Pretends not to notice instead.

She goes to those therapy seasons only because Hotch tells her she has to. But the woman is good,  _really good_ , and Emily has a hard time convincing her that she's fine. She keeps asking Emily the same stupid questions over and over again and Emily has to keep herself from accidently spilling out the truth in anger. That Ian Doyle isn't dead, that Ian Doyle never tried to kill her, that there's no reason for her to go and see a psychiatrist in the first place.

Sometimes she wonders what would happen if she did.

.

They're on the jet back to Washington after a case. Emily's eyes locked on the screen of her phone, Clyde's name flashing over the display, his third call in an hour.

"Can I ask you something?"

Emily looks up to find JJ watching her from across the table.

"Sure."

"What is it between you and him?" JJ nods in the direction of Emily's phone, a curious look on her face and Emily wishes she'd left it in her jacket.

"You know, back in the hospital after Doyle," JJ keeps talking, unaware of Emily's trembling hands. "I just wondered...if you two...had ever been together?"

Emily bites her lip, looks out the window and into the dark night sky.

"It seemed like you meant a lot to him. He wouldn't leave your side, not even for a minute. But now you're here and...don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're back. I just thought..." JJ trails off and Emily can see how uncomfortable she looks.

"I'm sorry, Emily, I shouldn't have asked."

Emily closes her eyes. "It's fine, JJ. It's just too complicated to explain."

JJ laughs. "It always is, isn't it?"

Emily manages a smile."I suppose it is."

.

The first time Emily goes to see her grave, it's raining.

She stares down at the headstone with her name on it, wonders what they buried down there.

The bureau still isn't sure what to do with it, it obviously isn't as easy as taking down her picture in the office hallway.

Emily crouches down on the grass, allows her hands to rest on the cold ground, wishing she could bury her memories too.

.

Sometimes Emily finds herself sitting in the darkness of her new apartment, staring at the white walls for hours. Boxes still pilled up all around her. She doesn't even dare to think about who had to pack them in the first place.

She barely sleeps, barely eats and works longer than she has to. Starts doing all the paperwork for the team just to keep herself from thinking.

Clyde keeps calling and after a while Emily stops answering her phone. She's not sure what to tell him anymore, knows she needs to figure out what to do with her life first.

Knows she has to figure it out on her own this time.

.

When the team meets at Rossi's for dinner, and Reid shows up even though he made clear that he wouldn't, Emily's relieved. It's a start and it's more than she'd hoped for.

Maybe it's because of the wine everyone had, but for a while it almost feels like  _before._ Emily keeps watching them, while she moves her food around her plate, the bittersweet taste of hope lingering on her lips.

She watches them laugh, longs to laugh with them. But deep down she knows that for her, there's no going back.

She's the first to offer doing the dishes and she's glad no one tries to argue. She finds herself next to the sink, staring out of the window into the darkness. Feeling utterly alone. It's what she chose years ago.

She stares at her glass of wine on the kitchen counter, wishing she could just drink herself to sleep.

"If you don't like the wine, I can get you something else."

Rossi's voice makes her jump. When she turns around, she finds him standing right behind her.

"You didn't even have a sip," he tells her matter-of-factly, his gaze fixed on her face. And she remembers a night he looked at her like this before, that night in Vegas when she'd been sure he could see right through her.

"Do your prefer bourbon?" Rossi asks. "Vodka? Tequila? Or maybe just a glass of water?" his voice is even, his gaze soft and Emily wonders if he already suspects something.

She stays quiet, knows that if she does so much as blink, she's going to fall apart.

But she wishes she could just tell him, tell him the reason she stopped drinking. The reason which has nothing to do with an ulcer like she told Morgan. But of course she can't tell him.

It's her burden to bear.

.

"He wants to know if the experience can change," Emily says absentmindedly. "I can relate to that."

It's too late to take it back, when she finds her team staring at her. Puzzled looks on their worn faces. She scolds herself for bringing it up again, before she stops lounging in her chair and sits up straight.

"Reid felt a warmth and saw a light," she starts to explain, while she tries her best to keep her walls up. "When I coded in the ambulance, all I felt was cold and darkness. And I would like to think that there's a different future waiting for me."

"You actually died?" Reid looks broken. His voice barely above a whisper and Emily has to look away, unable to hold his tortured gaze. She's glad when Morgan takes over the conversation, bringing it back to their unsub.

A few hours later, Emily finds herself alone in a car next to Reid, the two of them heading back to the police station, their clothes soaking wet from the lake.

They're both quiet, neither of them saying a word and Emily's sure he's still thinking about their different near death experiences.  _Or the fact that she had died after all._

Emily wishes she could do something, but she knows she can't. Knows his pain is his and no matter what she does it won't change how he feels.

A wave of nausea hits her so unexpectedly. all she manages is to call out his name. Her hand pressed to her mouth

Reid turns his head in her direction and the car screeches to a halt on the empty road. Emily pushes the door open just in time before she throws up.

Breathing hard, she slumps back in her seat begging the world to stop spinning, when her eyes meet Reid's stricken face.

 _Great,_  the last thing she needs is Reid freaking out on her.

"It's nothing contagious, Reid. I promise."

Her voice is weak, her half smile doesn't make it any better and Reid doesn't look convinced.

She closes her eyes and reminds herself to breathe, before she tells him the first thing that comes to her mind.

"I just had too much wine last night. That's all, Reid." She looks back at him and it seems to have done the trick.

He relaxes, his expression changing from panic to worry. And even though Emily already knows she'll have to face a serious talk about her drinking habits, probably with Hotch when he hears about it, it's still better than Reid freaking out about a stomach bug she doesn't even have.

And,  _of course_ , easier than facing the truth.

.

Emily's alone with a stack of paperwork, when Clyde shows up out of nowhere. She catches a glimpse of his face out of the corner of her eye and when she turns around on her chair she finds him standing in front of the double glass doors.

For a moment she just stares, unable to move.

"What are you doing here?" she blurts out, while she watches him as he makes his way towards her.

"You haven't answered any of my calls in weeks, I was worried."

"There's nothing to worry about."

"No?"

Emily watches as he raises his brows at her.

"Than what are you doing here at 6.30? I'm pretty sure not even your boss is around."

"Paperwork." Emily tells him even though she knows it sounds ridiculous.  _Knows that it indeed is._

Clyde shakes his head before he sinks down on her desk, his hands reaching for her face. She closes her eyes, allows her cheek to rest against his palm. Unable to resist his touch.

"What are you really doing here, Clyde?" she whispers. Not sure if she really wants to know.

"I'm going to talk to Erin," he tells her. His fingers brush over her skin. Bringing back a sudden longing. "I want you to come back to London with me."

Emily shakes her head at him. "I can't, Clyde," she looks up at him, tries to fight the tears building in her eyes. "I'm not ready."

She's not sure if she ever will be.

He seems sad, yet not even surprised. It's like he knew all along. Maybe it's not even the reason he came.

Emily watches as he bends forward, his lips resting softly against her forehead.

"Just promise to give me a call when you are."

.

Emily's in the car with Morgan, on the way to the latest crime scene somewhere in South Carolina, when a thunderstom hits out of nowhere. Thunder rumbles close, lightning rips the sky apart. Morgan pulls over when heavy rain makes it impossible to drive.

He's cursing under his breath before he grabs his phone to call Hotch. Emily leans back in her seat and stares out of the window, barely listening to Morgan going on about the weather and the bad phone reception.

Lost in thought she allows her fingers to trail down the inside of the car window, following the raindrops on their way down.  _Remembering a stormy night in Paris._

She feels tears burn in her eyes and she wishes she knew where  _they_  were, _w_ onders if that would ever change. And if she would ever be able to leave them truly behind.

Depp down she already knows she won't. Not as long as she keeps holds on to the ring in her safe or the picture Declan painted as a six year old for her birthday. Not as long as she wears a four leaf clover burn on her breast, marking her as Ian's.

Emily can't stop the sob from escaping. She has a hand pressed against her mouth to muffle the sound, but it's too late.

"Emily?"

She hears Morgan's voice, but it seems far away. It becomes impossible to breathe. Before she knows what she's doing, she's out of the car.

Emily's soaked in seconds. A brisk wind tearing at her clothes, whipping her dark hair into her face. Tears mix with the rain, while she stumbles forward blindly. Her chest hurts and black dots dance in front of her eyes, raindrops drip from her eyelashes.

She hasn't gone far before Morgan catches up with her and pulls her around to face him. Yells at her angrily over the roaring storm.

His anger is exactly what she wants to hear. Because it's what he is thinking. It what they're all thinking.

_And it's true._

It doesn't take long for Morgan to calm down, obviously realizing what he just did. He stops midsentence and starts to apologize.

Emily stares back at him, wishing for him to stop. And it's written all over her face, because Morgan becomes quiet. Realizes that she isn't mad or heartbroken; just glad that someone finally said it out loud.

After what feels like forever, he turns around and leaves her at the side of the road alone.

.

When her mother calls for the first time in years, Emily's first instinct is to hang up. But for some reason the phone stays glued to her ear. Her mothers voice, cold and sharp just like Emily remembers, telling her what a horrible daughter she is.

And she is. Emily knows. She hasn't given her mother a second thought since she got back from Paris. Hadn't thought about what Hotch might have told her. About her death, about her not being dead at all.

Her mother makes clear that she had no idea, no idea at all. That no one called her to tell her about the funereal, that no one bothered telling her that Emily wasn't dead. That she had to hear it from a stranger. Emily's sure it's impossible but she could swear her mother starts to cry.

It doesn't last through. Her mother's voice turns into angry accusations and Emily grabs the edge of her BAU desk so hard her knuckles turn white.

When black dots start to dance in front of her eyes, Emily begins to panic, afraid she's going to faint.

She blinks when the phone disappears out of her hands. Her mother cut off midsentence. Emily looks up and finds Rossi standing next to her.

"That's enough," he tells her, before he hangs up the phone und helps Emily up to her feet.

She's too dizzy to fight him, allows him to lead her into his office instead. Rossi makes her lie down on his couch, tells her to breathe and the next thing she knows there's something cold on her forehead. A hand around her wrist and Reid's voice joining Rossi's.

When she dares to open her eyes again, she finds Rossi sitting next to her.

"Maybe you should go and see a doctor," he tells her, his voice thick with concern.

"I'm fine," Emily tells him. Knows it sounds all kinds of wrong considering the fact that she's lying on his couch, close to passing out.

Rossi nods. "I never said you weren't. But maybe you should go and see a doctor anyway."

He doesn't say another word, but there is no need to tell her that he knows what she isn't ready to admit to herself.

.

When Garcia asks her if she wants to go out again, like they did  _before,_ Emily agrees without thinking twice. Like Reid already said: "What could possibly go wrong?"

Turns out, _everything._

It's not even ten. The only thing Emily wants is to go back home. Her black dress is too tight, her high heels about to kill her and the nightclub Garica chose is too crowded for Emily's liking. It's too hot and too loud, the air stale. The stench of sweat and smoke and too much perfume heavy in the air.

But by the looks of it, Emily seems to be the only one concerned. Garcia and JJ are obviously having a good time, both of them quite drunk, while Emily's still staring at her untouched glass of absinth.

It's past sunrise, when Emily finally manages to get them to leave.

Reid's already waiting in the open door, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Probably trying to look like a scolding parent. But he just looks tired and grumpy and if the circumstances had been different Emily might have laughed.

But she's tired and grumpy herself and by now she just wants to go home and cry.

She watches as a still pretty drunk JJ makes her way past Reid, rambling something about making pancakes for breakfast.

"Great," Reid mumbles. "Now I have to babysit her too?" He looks annoyed and a little freaked out.

Emily gives him a sympathetic smile. "Just make sure she doesn't burn down the house."

The whole ride back to her apartment, Emily bites her lip to keep herself from breaking down in tears. By the time she steps out of the cab she tastes blood. She makes her way in and when the door finally falls shut behind her, her tears start to spill down her cheeks.

When they meet later to watch Hotch run the triathlon, Emily hides her swollen eyes behind sunglasses. Pretends to be just as hung over as Garcia and JJ. And she's glad the two of them had been so out of it they don't remember she hadn't been drinking.

Morgan shakes his head and makes bad jokes until the smell of his coffee makes Emily's stomach flip and her - to Morgan's horror and everyone else's amusement- throw up all over his shoes.

At least it shuts him up.

Rossi offers to drive her home, but Emily just shakes her head. Embarassed enough already. She doesn't want to add ruined leather seats to the long list of things she has to make up for. And besides, she's feeling better.

She sits down on the grass in the shadow of a tree, allows her head to rest against the trunk.

Reid brings her a cup of water, before he sits down next to her. It's silent for a long time, the two of them just staring in the distance. It's a pleasant silence and for a while Emily pretends that nothing has changed.

Reid starts talking first, his voice gentle when he asks her: "How far along are you?"

.

Clyde calls her to help with an investigation. Not her personal phone, no, Clyde knows better. He calls the office and an intern comes to get her.

 _"Salut ma belle. Ca va?"_  he greets her in French, a remembrance of a long lost life and Emily feels her heart flutter.

It's a hell of a time to tell her that he got promoted and that he wants  _her_  to take over the London office. An offer he very well knows she won't be able to resist.

"You always had bad timing," she tells him.

Clyde just chuckles. "Come on, Emily, don't you miss this? Think about it."

She smiles, glad he can't see her.

"I'll think about it," she tells him before she hangs up. Her decision already made.

.

For a second all she can do is stare, thinking that she's not supposed to be there. That she wouldn't even be allowed to work in the field if she admitted the truth.

But she hasn't, she can't and she's right there, stuck in a building with JJ's husband and a bomb. And she can't stop thinking that her whole life had been nothing but a lie.

Will tells her to run and Hotch does the same over the wire, but Emily doesn't move an inch. Knows there isn't enough time left. It's stupid and dangerous and Emily is scared. But all she can think about is JJ and Henry and that if anyone can cheat death, it's her.

It's a split second decision when she bends down on the floor next to Will, tearing the wire out of her ear. And even though she has no idea how to disarm a bomb, she knows she either will - _or die trying._

.

_3_

_2_

_1_

_One second is all that's_  left when she pulls the yellow cable and the timer stands still. Emily exhales a breath she hadn't known she was holding, while she sinks back on the floor with wide eyes.

Hotch shakes his head the moment he gets a look at her, tells her to go and get checked out by EMT's. For the first time ever, Emily does as she's told, waits patiently until Hotch is out of earshot, before she tells the medic next to her that she's pregnant.

The words fall so easily from her lips that Emily has no idea why it took her almost four months to say them.

.

When Clyde calls again, she's on her way out of the hospital. He sounds tired and worried, asks her if she lost her mind and Emily wonders who told him what happened in the first place.

He tells her that he's on his way to D.C., that he's had enough and that he's going to take her home. His voice filled with concern, his thick accent swallowing most of the vowels like always when he's angry.

But Emily knows him well enough to know what he really wants  _her to know._

With a smile on her face, she allows her hand to rest over the ultrasound picture in her pocket. Answering his unspoken proposition, the words she knows he aches to hear.

"I love you too."

**.**

**.**

****to be continued...** **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's pretend between 7x01 and 7x24 had only been a few months.


	5. Part V

**A Thousand Burned Out Yesterdays**

**Part V**

**.**

**.**

She wants to tell him, but when Clyde shows up in front of her apartment, she doesn't.

She allows him to pull her into his arms instead and when his lips find hers, it's soft and sweet and so much more than just a kiss.

"Where does the job offer come from?" she asks him later. They're lying next to each other, the bed sheets tangled between their naked bodies. Her head against his shoulder. The two of them watching the shadows on the wall.

Clyde sighs. "I know what you're thinking, Em, but it's not only because I was promoted."

She doesn't believe him, but there's no point fighting about. He wouldn't tell her the truth anyway.

"How much time do I have?"

"We leave tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Emily echoes and sits up. "I can't just leave tomorrow."

"Why not?" Clyde raises his brows quizzically. "You haven't unpacked anything since Paris. You're living in an empty apartment except for the furniture that came with it."

"Still," Emily shakes her head, reaches for Clyde's shirt on the floor. "I can't just leave," she tells him angrily, pulls his shirt over her head and slips out off the bed. "They need someone else to-"

"I already arranged that."

"You got a replacement for me in less than 14 hours?" Emily stares. "You didn't know I would agree."

Clyde chuckles. "Didn't I?"

Emily looks away.

"My things?" she asks. Hears the rustle of clothes from behind her.

"Someone else will take care of that."

"I don't want to live in a hotel again, Paris was- "

"You won't," Clyde interrupts her softly. "I want you to move in with me."

For a moment Emily's sure she misheard him, but when she turns around and catches the look on his face, she knows she hasn't.

"Why would you want that?" she asks. Watches as he gets up from the bed.

"You're not the type of man who wants an exclusive relationship," she adds, taking a step back. "Besides, I would prefer a few more walls than you have to offer in your loft."

"I sold it."

Emily blinks. "But you loved that loft."

"People change," Clyde tells her. "And I know you long enough to know what I want and what I don't."

He bends forward, his lips finding hers.

Emily hopes he's right.

.

They stop by at the BAU on their way to the airport.

Clyde had been right, they already know. She finds them sitting around the conference table, looking up at her when she stops in the doorway. It feels like a déjà vu.

It's Garcia who moves first, Garcia who pulls her into her arms, already crying. Morgan asks her if this is about Clyde and Emily shakes her head and tells him no. After all, it's not a lie.

JJ is next, a happy smile on her lips and Emily wonders how much the blonde already knows. Rossi makes her promise to call, to keep him posted on how she's doing and Emily knows exactly what he really wants her to keep him posted about. Reid holds on a little longer than she expected and Emily thinks that she might miss him the most.

Hotch gives her a nod and there's something in his eyes Emily can't put a finger on it. She wonders what Strauss told him. Maybe a lot more than necessary.

Emily promises to visit, promises to call, even though she already knows that she won't.

.

London is cold and rainy and taking over the office is exactly what Emily needs.

It's different from everything she did before, but it feels right being the one in charge instead of being the one asking for permission.

She gets her own big office with a great view and it makes her feel like a queen looking over her kingdom.

She's still not showing, not even a small bump and so she just keeps quiet. What would be the point of telling anyone? It wouldn't gain her any respect. If anything it would make her look vulnerable and that's the last thing she wants.

.

The mood swings hit out of nowhere.

Suddenly she gets angry with no reason, lashes out at everyone and everything. At work it's not so bad, but at home with Clyde it is. Most nights he spends in one of the guest rooms instead of in bed next to her. And she's sure he already regrets moving in together. She definitely does.

When she's not angry she's so sad she can barely breathe, always on the verge of bursting into tears. And Emily Prentiss doesn't cry.

That she keeps getting sick isn't helping either. Every time Clyde finds her hunched over in the bathroom, he gets more worried while Emily gets more annoyed. She keeps telling him that it's just stress and he believes her. At least he acts like he does, but Emily wonders if he already knows what's going on.

Maybe they're both not ready to face the truth.

.

She's in the middle of a meeting when black dots start to dance in front of her eyes. One second she's giving orders, the next the edge of her vision goes dark and her knees give out.

When she opens her eyes she's on her couch in her office, Clyde sitting next to her. His eyes fixed on the ultra sound picture she kept in her desk.

When he looks at her, an unspoken question burning in his blue eyes, Emily just nods.

"He's yours," she whispers.

.

It's the middle of the night, Emily standing on the terrace, watching the city lights from above. Clyde's two-story penthouse offering a breathtaking view over London.

A place clearly not suited to raise a child.

The floor length windows instead of walls seem too much of a risk, all of a sudden. The designer furniture, all stainless steel and black leather, too expensive to be ruined by chocolate. The floors just not made to be played on. The paintings on the wall clearly not meant for children's eyes to see. Emily didn't plan to give it up though.

She didn't plan to switch her black limousine for a minivan. She's stressed out by the idea of crumbs or ice-cream on the black leather seats. Of toys lying around or juice being spilled over her papers. Just the thought of taking care of a screaming infant terrifies her, just as much as the thought of having to change diapers or clean up vomit.

And she wonders why she can't think of the good things, why she can't remember something sweet JJ or Hotch told about Henry and Jack.

She thinks about Declan, about playing hide and seek, about telling him stories before he went to sleep. She loved that boy. She still does and she wonders what made it so different.

Maybe because he wasn't her own. Maybe because she knew the life she was living wasn't permanent. Maybe she'd been different back then. Or maybe, maybe that woman that loved Declan had been just a myth after all.

She remembers the loss she felt after she miscarried. Now she wonders if it had been more about the fact that the choice had been made for her instead of what actually happened.

"What's wrong?"

She blinks and finds Clyde standing next to her. Looking just as tired as she feels.

"Emily?"

"I don't think I can do this," she whispers. And she hates the tears blurring her vision. Hates her body for betraying her.

"What are you talking about?"

"Being a mother, Clyde. I don't know what I was thinking. I can't do this."

"We'll figure this out Emily, we always do. Remember?"

She does. Of course she does. But it's not enough. Not this time.

"What if we don't?"

"Then we do the same thing our parents did. We hire a nanny and ship him off to boarding school as soon as he's old enough."

"We're going to hire a nanny either way, I'm not going to stay at home, I'm going back to work."

Clyde groans.

"Bloody hell, Em, just go back to bed. Please. Lets talk about this some other time."

"I can't sleep, Clyde," she hates herself for sounding so whiny. She feels useless and stupid and knows this isn't her. Not anymore.

Clyde sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sure there's something you can take even when you're pregnant. I'm going to get you something."

"It's the middle of the night, Clyde."

"Exactly, and you need sleep as well as I do. So I'm going to get you something and hopefully we get some sleep then." With that he disappears through the double glass door back into the living room.

Emily bites her lip, angry at herself and the whole god damn world.

.

She's nearly eight months pregnant when she finally needs to get herself a new pair of pants. It seems like her stomach grows bigger each day and Emily hates it. Hates everything about this pregnancy, but it's not like she could say that out loud. She feels horrible for just thinking it.

"Have you thought about a name yet?" Clyde asks her one night.

Emily looks up at him from her place on the couch, finds him standing with his arms crossed in front of the windows.

"The room is still empty," he states without looking at her. "You still haven't chosen a crib or a car seat. I think we should at least have a name."

Emily's silent. He's right. She hasn't even taken a look at one of those catalogs. She doesn't plan to either.

"Is this about Doyle?"

The question startles her.

"Are you serious?" she asks. Meets Clyde's gaze reflected in the windowpane. Feels her cheeks flush with anger.

Clyde gives a slight shrug. "You tell me, darling. Is it about him?"

Emily bites her lip.

"It's not."

She puts the file in her hands down on the table. Grabs the armrest of the couch, pulls herself up to her feet.

"I can't promise you anything, Clyde," she tells him after a brief pause. "I wish I could, but I can't."

"You do it," she adds. "You choose the furniture and clothes and whatever you think we need. You pick a name. It just has to work with mine."

"You want him to have your last name."

"Yes."

The silence is growing heavy between them. This isn't just about a name and they both know it. Emily turns away first. Already fighting back the intense need to scream.

"Maybe one day," she whispers on her way to the stairs. "Maybe one day."

She isn't sure whom she wants to convince with that.

.

In the end she's barely able to walk. She feels sick almost all the time and even working from her office at home becomes impossible. One morning she just gives up, doesn't even try to make it out of the bedroom.

When she doesn't sleep she stares at the wall counting the seconds. Wonders if she's going to lose her mind. Maybe she already has.

Her phone keeps ringing and Clyde tells her it's Garcia, trying to reach her as well as JJ and Reid and even Rossi. Emily wonders if Rossi and Reid told the others or if they kept it to themselves. Isn't sure if she cares either way.

She doesn't take their calls, doesn't answer their texts. She's too tired to come up with lies.

It's Clyde who calls her doctor three weeks before the calculated birth date. She hears him say something about depression, about psychosis and she wonders if he's talking about her. He sounds like Hotch briefing the team for a case and Emily wonders if she's supposed to be the killer or the victim. Her head hurts and if she wasn't so tired, she might reach for her own phone and call Reid, ask him what this was all about. Reid would know. Reid always knew.

Clyde eyes her carefully from his place in the doorway, the phone pressed against his ear and she thinks she's never seen him so worried. Not when she went undercover. Not when a gun was pressed to her forehead. And she wonders what that means, wonders if this is even about her or if it's only about the child she's caring.  _His son._

She feels the little boy's feet press against her stomach from the inside and she wishes she could feel something other than fear.

An hour later they're on the way to the hospital.

.

When Emily opens her eyes, Clyde is sitting on the hospital bed next to her. His gaze fixed on the baby in his arms, a dark haired boy wrapped up in a blue blanket.

"What name did you chose?" she wants to know, fighting against the sleepiness. Hopes it's not William or Harry or something else taken from the top ten of Britain's favorites.

Clyde reaches for her hand, his blue eyes full of warmth. Emily has never seen him this happy.

"Lucian," he tells her. "His name is Lucian."

 _"It means light,"_  Emily thinks, before her eyes flutter shut again.

**to be continued...**

**.**

**.**


	6. Part VI

**Part VI**

**.**

**.**

"Tell me, how long exactly do you plan to hide our son?"

Emily bites her lip, not turning around. Clyde's standing in the doorway to the nursery. The bedroom next to their own, watching her change Lucian's diapers. The little boy not bothered, already asleep again.

"Emily!"

"Shh," she mumbles angrily. "If he wakes up you're going to rock him back to sleep."

Clyde falls quiet again and Emily zips up the sleeping bag, before she puts Lucian back down in his crib.

When she finally turns around Clyde's still standing in the doorframe, an angry look on his face.

"It's been almost two months, Emily," he starts as soon as she steps into the hallway. "Two months!" He looks furious.

Emily shrugs, makes her way down the stairs into the kitchen.

"When will you tell them?" Clyde asks, following her.

"I don't know," Emily grabs a cup of coffee, her eyes fixed on the clock. Ten minutes is all she has left before she has to leave for work.

"Why?" Clyde stares.

"I know you were scared because of what happened a few years ago, but now he's here and he's fine and I don't get it anymore. You can't always fear the worst for the rest of his life."

"I'm just not ready. I haven't spoken to them in months."

"Well, darling, it's about bloody time that you do! What if they just show up again? You remember the last time Garcia and Morgan showed up out of nowhere? You made me tell them that you were working undercover in Prague. I had to listen to Garcia's babbling for two hours before they were convinced that you were fine."

"They will come by to visit, they will ask questions. I'm just not ready."

"That's ridiculous," Clyde tells her. Emily can see that he doesn't believe her.

"This isn't about them, right? You're just not sure if that's what you want, the baby and me. You're not sure if you're going to stay."

For a moment Emily says nothing. She stares into her coffee, thinking that she never imagined her life like this.

"Emily."

She wants to tell him that he's wrong. But she can't.

"I have to go," she tells him instead, puts down her coffee and reaches for her jacket on the counter. Clyde stops her with his hand around her wrist, holding on too tight.

"We're not done here," he starts. His blue eyes lit with anger. "You can't just run away every time we talk!"

"I'm not running away, Clyde," she growls. "I'm going to work! You stay home and change diapers if you want to!"

She pulls away from him making her way through the kitchen and into the hallway.

"Emily!"

"Come on, Clyde, that's not what either of us wanted. Why pretend that it is? It doesn't make us bad parents just because we want to keep working."

"But we don't have a normal office job, Emily."

"What do you suggest? That we quit?"

"Maybe."

His answer catches her off guard. She stops. Turns around to face him.

"Are you serious?"

He looks uneasy and Emily thinks this might be the first time since they met.

"I don't know," he starts. "I just-"

"No," Emily shakes her head. Steps back, both hands raised in the air. "I'm not going to quit, I'm not going to stop working. Not now or ever. You always said you know me better than anyone else, if you really do, then you know I won't."

"I love Lucian," she adds a moment later. Softer now and the moment she says it she knows it's true. "But I'm not a stay-at-home Mom and I never will be. And you aren't a stay-at-home Dad either, Clyde. Maybe we're both just like our parents and maybe Lucian is going to hate us just as much we hate them. But I don't think it would do any good to change who we are. And even if it would, I won't."

She gives him one last look, before she leaves.

.

When she comes home that night, she's exhausted and all she wants to do is sleep. Hopes Clyde already went to bed so she doesn't have to talk to him, knows it'll only end in a fight anyway.

The light in the living room tells her that there's no such luck.

Tiredly she makes her way through the hallway, preparing herself for whatever is lying ahead of her. Thinking that taking down criminals was much easier than this. But when she turns the corner, it's not Clyde standing in the living room.

Instead she's met by a teenage boy with black hair and dark eyes. Wearing a school uniform from Eton, the same school Clyde went to.

The boy watches her curiously, a smile on his lips that seems somewhat familiar.

And suddenly she knows.

_Declan._

"My name's Killian," the boy tells her with a dazzling smile, his hand reaching for hers. "It's nice to finally meet you, Emily."

.

She's not sure how long she holds the hand of the dark haired boy in front of her.

It could have been hours. _Days. Weeks._

When they finally sit down next to each other, Emily has no idea what to say.

"You're wearing contacts?" is what she settles for in the end.

Declan -n _o, Killian-_ chuckles _._  It sounds like Ian.

"Yeah," the boy grins. "I hate them, but it could be worse. The change of hair color was nice though."

"You've been in England?" she asks. "All this time, since-"

"Yes," he nods. "But my father isn't," he adds a moment later. He watches her closely and Emily wonders what he's looking for.

She says nothing, looks down at her hands and back up at the boy. He looks so much like his father, it hurts.

"I always wanted to see you again," he tells her all of a sudden. "That year you spent with my father and me was the best year of my life."

"You remember," Emily whispers. Not sure what else to say.

"Of course I do. You made me who I am."

"No," Emily shakes her head. "I was working undercover, I-"

"That's not true, Emily. Do you remember Christmas?" The boy grins and for a second he looks like the little boy she met so many years ago.

"It was the first time we had a tree," he continues. "I remember my father complaining about the dirt and the smell and you just gave him a kiss and put it in the living room anyway. And he let you. We made cookies, at least we tried, but it was a mess. Louise was furious and then my father came home. I remember the look on his face and Louise was already rambling, telling him how sorry she was. But my father just started to laugh. It was the first time I ever heard him laugh. He made cookies with us that night."

"It took hours to get the flour out of your hair," Emily says.

"It was the best Christmas I ever had and it was because of you. You changed him."

"And then I took it all away."

"No," the boy next to her shakes his head. "You saved my life, you gave me a chance. You watched over me, you did everything you could and then you came and saved me all over again. You gave us both a chance. Without you, I would be dead. And so would my father. But even if so, I would still have had the one year that changed everything and it would have been worth it all."

Emily is close to choking, the tears spilling down her cheeks against her will. She presses her hand against her mouth to muffle a sob, but it's  _Declan's_  hand over hers that makes her stop.

"I loved Louise, but the only person that was a mother to me was you. And I wouldn't want to change that."

She looks up in his dark eyes, seeing the young man he is instead of the blonde little boy running around in the gardens of a Tuscan villa. The way he looks with his dark eyes and his dark hair and his pale face- he could be _hers_. And she knows, in her heart, he always would be.

.

"You always kept tabs on him didn't you?" Emily asks Clyde later.

She's still sitting on the couch in the living room. Declan long gone.

Clyde nods, settles down on the coffee table in front of her.

"From the moment you told me about him."

"Why?" Emily whispers, unable to look at him. Afraid he'll see the tears in her eyes.

"Because I saw how much you loved him."

Clyde's voice sounds warm and full of love.

"He's an A student, darling. All the colleges want him. And he's nothing like his father."

"You're not going to tell me that it's because of me."

"Of course it is," Clyde says and reaches for her hand. "You gave him what no one else ever did."

Emily lifts her head, meets his gaze through her tears.

"And what would that have been?"

"Love, Emily. You gave him love."

.

It's Christmas Eve and snowflakes are falling from the sky, their penthouse in London filled with people for the very first time.

Garcia is cooing at Lucien, JJ sitting next to her. Reid is playing Monopoly with Jack and Henry on the floor, while Hotch and Will watch London's skyline from the terrace outside. Rossi is in the kitchen with Clyde, the two of them doing all the cooking.

Emily's on the couch next to the Christmas tree watching her _family_  with a smile on her face.

It had been Clyde who made the call, Clyde who invited them. Clyde who convinced her that it was the right decision to make. He'd been right.

She knows her heart will never be whole, but maybe it was never meant to be whole to begin with. Maybe it was what made her the person she was. And maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Emily already knows they won't move anytime soon, she loves their penthouse far too much for that. She's not going to switch her BMW for a minivan either and there would be a rule for no eating or drinking in the car until Lucian was grown. But she knows she'll allow him to hide a box of cookies in his bedroom and just laugh when he eats them even after brushing his teeth.

She won't attend parent-teacher conferences and neither would Clyde. She'll just pay the nanny to do it. She won't be on the school board either, but she'll always listen to whatever her son has to say. Even when it's the middle of the night.

She won't make birthday cakes or plan sleepovers or play dates. She doesn't want to have kids running through their penthouse. But she will allow him to camp on the terrace, to build a castle on the living room floor and she'll just roll her eyes when he spills his juice over the new carpet.

She won't be a perfect mother, Emily knows. But she will love him, no matter what. And at the end of the day, that might be enough.

It's Garcia who sits down next to her placing Lucian back into Emily's arms.

"He's so adorable," Garcia tells her. Her whole face lit up with happiness. "And he looks just like you."

Emily smiles. Looks down at her son. His thick dark hair, his flawless skin. Watches his tiny fingers curl around her thumb.

"He does," Emily whispers. Her eyes meeting Lucian's.

Only they are different.

His are blue. Just like his father's.

**.**

**.**


End file.
